


Climb To The Heights

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: smut_tuesdays, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-10
Updated: 2009-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My door, such as it is, will always be open for an old friend."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climb To The Heights

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 3.09 "Unfinished Business"  
> A/N: For [**roga**](http://roga.livejournal.com/) and [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/). It's kind of obvious I was listening to a lot of Norah Jones tonight. Many thanks to [**dashakay**](http://dashakay.livejournal.com/) for cheerleading and pointing out flaws in my structural integrity.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

He had expected the groundbreaking to be awkward, after that last time. The first time. He had been avoiding her, basking in the sunshine, playing in the sand.

Last time, he hadn't seen any of the planet. Last time, it had been dim and rainy, and his visit had been perfunctory, just checking on the progress of the settlement. He dug his toes in and remembered Laura setting up house, putting wood in her little stove, offering him something to drink.

"Are you really going to do this?" he asked her as she moved around her tent. He was sitting at the table with a cup of something that it would be kind to call tea.

"I really am," she said, bending to sort through a trunk. "Why don't you come down? Set up a tent, give up on all that everlasting paperwork."

"I thought paperwork was one of your favorite parts of being President," he reminded her.

She straightened, tossing her hair behind her. "My sudden lack of responsibility is remarkably freeing, I've found. You should try it sometime."

He shifted in his chair. "I prefer metal to dirt."

"You and that son of yours," she said fondly. "Captain Apollo and his look of distaste."

"Major Apollo now," he said, drinking some more. The tea tasted like watery grass, but at least it was something to keep down the dust that somehow caught in his lungs despite the rain. It had been a long time since he'd been on solid ground.

"Commander Adama now," she corrected. "In his father's footsteps. I just like the sound of it. How far we've come."

"Sometimes it doesn't seem that far," he said, peering into his cup. "I'm sure Baltar will take us back to the glory days."

"Bill, I'm persona non grata in the fleet. Baltar or no Baltar," she clipped the word off in distaste, "I'll serve my society best by getting back into the classroom and educating all the babies that people are going to have."

"You and those babies," he said fondly. She smiled at him and the brightness of her eyes lit up the ugly tent.

"Me and those babies," she said, coming over and sitting down next to him. "We seem to be here to stay. I'll make the most of it."

"It's going to be strange, not fighting you every step of the way," he said. She put her hand over his; the touch of her cool fingers sent a jolt through his body.

"For me too," she said. "But you can visit. My door, such as it is, will always be open for an old friend."

When she kissed him, it was startling and inevitable both, like the first kills he'd racked up in his Viper. The feel of her mouth was a quick hit of adrenaline, the fast involuntary twitch of muscles, and immediate commitment to the task. Memories flashed: the fire in her eyes when they'd met, the pressure of her body against his dancing on Colonial Day, her smile when she'd handed him his admiral's wings, the strenght of her as she clutched at him and giggled before her debates. He reached up to tangle his hands in her hair. She made a little humming noise that had him shivering and pulling her closer. She broke the kiss and tucked her face against his neck, nipping at him.

"How far we've come," she murmured, pressing her cheek to his, her lips grazing his ear.

"We could go farther," he said, pushing her hair away to kiss her neck, and she laughed. He could feel the vibration of it through her skin. It matched the sudden thrum of his blood.

"Could we?" she teased, her words belied by her hands undoing his buttons. "You'll have to explain. I'm not sure I remember."

"Don't worry about it. I hear it's like riding a bicycle," he said, breathing in the scent of her hair. She smelled like gardens and life and summer nights on a planet where such things existed.

"No pedals, surely," she said, nuzzling under his chin.

"My memory's pretty shaky too," he said.

"Gods, I doubt that very much," she said in a husky voice that he liked, and she leaned down and turned down her lamp. Even in the almost-dark, her skin glowed. His hand was a shadow over hers. "All right. Tell me."

"First you kiss me again," he said, and leaned into her as if they'd been doing this all along. She leaned back into him, her mouth opening under his.

"The memories are coming back," she said breathily after a few moments.

"You tell me, then," he said, hands settling on her hips.

"I want you out of that uniform," she said.

"So much for second base," he quipped, tugging at his lapel.

"Second base is overrated," she said. "I've been waiting since I got your call. How much time do we have until your shuttle leaves?"

He checked his watch. "An hour."

"All the more reason to make much of time," she murmured, kicking off her boots. "I can kiss you just the same without any clothes on."

"Maybe it's for the best that you didn't steal that election," he said, aching for her. They fumbled at each other's clothes in a comfortable way, kissing exposed patches of skin. She shimmied out of her skirt and pushed her hands under his tanks. "Gods only know how much longer the military could have kept you under control."

"Consider this a coup," she said with a sly quirk to her mouth, undoing his fly as he dragged her heavy sweater over her head. "Are you feeling overthrown?"

For answer, he pulled her down onto the cot. She chuckled as she settled herself on his chest, lining up their bodies until it was skin from chest to toe, and he sighed at how good it felt just to touch her. He smoothed his hand down her back as she kissed him. The bones of her spine stood out like buttons on a control panel and he touched each one. His prick was trapped under her hip and he heaved against her until she was straddling him comfortably. She rubbed against him and he grunted and arched up until she gasped.

"The revolution will not be that easily satisfied," she said.

"Fortunately, the revolution has legs that won't quit," he said, and she giggled. He rubbed one foot along her calf. "Stop laughing. This is serious business."

"Convince me," she said, still snickering at him. He flattened his palm over her ass and squeezed, pulling her hips against his, and she sucked in a quick breath.

"Ah," she said. "There we are." She shifted until he could feel the hot slick of her against his thigh. He slapped her ass gently and slid his hand between them, stroking her. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip, humming. "Bill Adama, you haven't forgotten a godsdamn thing."

He found the knot of nerves and made her gasp, her spine arching. "Seems to be coming back."

"How long?" she breathed, catching his wrist. "Thirty minutes."

"I'll make it count," he said. She kissed him, pressing up onto her knees and sliding down onto him so that they both groaned. He pushed up into her, meeting her, his heart expanding the way it did when he flew. Slowly, slowly, he moved in her and she slid over him. She was the oxygen, leaving him breathless until her mouth met his. She rocked against him, leaning down over him; he cupped her breasts toward his face and crooked his neck until it hurt just so he could nuzzle her cleavage. He took a long moment just to enjoy the curve of her breast, tracing it with his lips. She ducked her head and her hair hung around his face like a curtain. He could make a home here, he thought, in this bed, with her, canvas walls or bulkheads around them. If it was a dream, it was a sweet dream.

Rain pattered on the canvas of the tent and she whimpered in rhythm. He tasted sweat and the sweetness of her skin; the taste and smell and dim sight of her set a fire in him like his veins were fuel lines catching. She sat back, grinding her hips into his until the pressure was almost too much. He could hear her breath rough in her throat, and he stroked her from collarbones to hips and down, urging her on with his fingers as she keened. She looked down at him, eyes wide, a helpless sort of yelp coming from her lips, and he surged up, catching her in his lap, holding her tight to him as she shook and shivered and buried her face in his shoulder, her body clutching around him.

She pushed her face into his neck, whimpering and licking her lips, her tongue brushing his skin. Her hips rolled against his and the last contractions urged him on; he thrust up into her, fighting for leverage, the squeeze of her exquisite. He took a breath that smelled like mud and sweat and her and rain and held it, fighting the tension, holding onto the moment as his body tightened and he crushed her to his chest as the world ended.

He came to gasping on the bed, her resting next to him, their breathing synchronized. She reached for his wrist.

"Ten minutes to make yourself presentable, Admiral," she said. "Think you can make it?"

"I admit at the moment, I'm lacking in motivation," he said, and she chuckled. "Plus, you're lying on my arm."

"Comfortable," she said, but rolled far enough that he could extract himself. He pushed himself up reluctantly and sat on the edge of the cot, reaching for his clothes. The rain-soaked air was cool and damp on his skin, and he rubbed along his arms to stop the goosebumps. She dragged a blanket over herself and watched him get dressed. He liked the feel of her eyes on him. He could imagine her smirk, knowing he'd turn and catch that smug look on her face. He turned up the lamp just enough to find all of his clothes, doing up his buttons with shaky fingers. He'd have to wash this when he got back to Galactica.

She yawned and nestled her head into the pillows as he finished buttoning his placket. He leaned over to kiss her lingeringly.

"Five minutes," she said.

"I'm the Admiral. They can wait." He kissed her again, memorizing the softness of her lips and the texture of her curls.

"My door is always open for you," she reminded him.

"I'll remember that," he said.

Except that he had never come back until now, for Baltar's party. He might have thought he'd dreamed it one lonely night, except he'd been sore the next morning, and there had been mud on his boots. Here he was again, half-hoping she wouldn't remember, wondering if she'd be angry. He composed apologies in his head (I would have called, but. I would have come, but.) and then shook his head and dug his fingers into the sand to scour away the memory of the smoothness of her skin under his palms. There was no excuse. Only circumstance. She'd understand or she wouldn't.

He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye before she settled down beside him, leaning into him with an easy familiarity, tucking her hand possessively into the crook of his arm.

"It's good to see you," he said, relief flooding through him in a rush, and that fire close behind.

She smiled. Everything would be all right.


End file.
